


someday you will ache like i ache

by cherry_darling



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 19:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry_darling/pseuds/cherry_darling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first night in the hospital, Lydia dreams of Laura Hale."</p>
            </blockquote>





	someday you will ache like i ache

**Author's Note:**

> set sometime during S2

i am doll eyes, doll mouth, doll legs

i am doll arms, big veins, dog bait

(HOLE)

 

I don't know what's happening to me. I seemed to be unraveling.

(THE HOURS)

 

-

 

 

The first night in the hospital, Lydia dreams of Laura Hale.

She doesn’t know it’s Laura Hale at the time (she learns who she is later), but her eyes flutter open, blinking against the harsh hospital lights and there is a tall, skinny woman sitting on a chair next to the bed. She looks up at Lydia and doesn’t say a word. The stranger’s lower lip is tucked between her teeth.

“I said… I don’t want visitors,” Lydia slurs, her tongue heavy in her mouth. “I can’t have visitors. They said – ”

“I’m not a visitor,” the woman says, standing up. She has long black hair and green eyes.

“Then what’re you doing here?” Lydia’s head falls back on the pillow 

The woman touches Lydia’s arm. Her mouth quirks into a small smile. She smells like smoke and dirt. Her hair is a mess and her eye makeup is smudged like she’s been crying, and her eyes are so bright. They feel like a wound, burning into Lydia’s already torn flesh. “My name is Laura,” she says, and Lydia wakes up.

The room is empty.

She rolls onto her other side and goes back to sleep.

She doesn’t remember this in the morning.

 

-

 

Lydia never remembers her dreams. All she knows is that she wakes up screaming with blood on the sheets and there’s skin under her nails from where she raked them up and down her stomach and sides and over her neck in her sleep. Sometimes there’s dirt coating the soles of her feet, mud caked under her nails and between her toes, streaks of it on her face like she was digging.

There are always dried tears on her cheeks and her throat is raw from screaming.

The smell of smoke lingers in the room.

 

-

 

They are keeping secrets from her, she can tell. Allison, Scott, Stiles and Jackson. Especially Jackson. She wants to grab them all, shake them and yell, “What’s wrong, why won’t you tell me anything, I can help you, I can help, I am crawling in my own skin here,” and she also wants to scream, “Help me, help me _please_.”

She finds herself doodling spirals on her economics notes without realizing and no one else seems to notice the pale boy with the dark hair in school.

Lydia misses Allison because Allison is the only one who’s ever felt like a friend.

Lydia wants friends more than anything.

She calls Allison one night and gets her voicemail. “Hi, Allison, it’s Lydia and I was just wondering if maybe you could do something on Friday night. My mom is out of town on business and we can have drinks and watch some movies or something. Call me back, okay?” she chirps into the phone, lower lip trembling. She hangs up and she whispers, _please, please call me back, I need to talk to someone, please_ , and covers her mouth to try to keep from crying. _Please, Allison, please, I need a friend, I’m crawling in my skin._

And Allison says the kanima – whatever the hell that is, Lydia doesn’t know because Allison never really tells her because Lydia might want to be Allison’s friend but it’s so obvious that Allison wants nothing to do with Lydia and that hurts so much, more than it should maybe – wants a friend and Lydia almost barks out a laugh. _I want a friend_ , she thinks. _That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’m lonely, too. I have no one. I’m so lonely_.

 

-

 

Laura sits at Lydia’s desk when Lydia opens the door to her bedroom on a Friday after school. She’s reading Lydia’s dog eared copy of _Jane Eyre_  and she says, “You have good taste” without looking up. Scattered at her feet are old copies of _Seventeen_ magazines that Lydia keeps saved in a box under her bed. The pages are faded and yellowed and Laura’s done all the quizzes in the back.

Lydia can see from here that with Laura’s face shape, the best haircut would be long layers, that Laura isn’t a toxic friend and that Laura’s personal style is more “punk rock” than “preppy” or “classic.”

“Who are you?” Lydia whispers. She grips the doorknob tightly, her knuckles white and her jaw clenched. She is angry, she is frightened, she is exhausted. She is scared she’s going crazy, and Laura just raises her eyebrows at her. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not real, Lydia.” Laura’s voice is soft, and Lydia blinks and Laura is gone.

Lydia opens the window. The room reeks of smoke and death. She has to let the smell out.

 

-

 

She goes for a walk one day and sees Laura on the sidewalk, eyeing up a vintage royal blue Mustang longingly. “I always liked muscle cars,” she sighs, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “I used to have a Camaro once,” she adds, her voice wistful. “But now my brother drives it.”

Laura is gaunt, Lydia thinks, but still beautiful. She has high cheekbones and a long neck, but her eyes are very large and haunted. “What are you?” Lydia murmurs.

“I was an Alpha,” Laura says. She takes her hand out of her pocket and traces a spiral on the window of the car with her fingertip. “I was an Alpha and then I was dead.” She looks at Lydia, a mischievous smile on her face. Lydia feels herself pale and she wants to run but she’s rooted to the spot, her tongue frozen in her mouth. Laura’s teeth are white and crooked. “And now… Now I’m just a figment of your imagination, I guess.” She brushes the backs of her fingers against Lydia’s cheek and her eyes are suddenly sad again. “I’m so sorry, Lydia.”

Lydia starts to say, “What do you have to be sorry for?” but then Laura is gone again.

 

-

 

In the shower, Lydia squeezes her eyes shut and watches as the dirt is washed off of her hands and her knees, watches as the brown water is slurped down the drain and she clenches her fists so hard that the skin breaks and blood bubbles to the surface, crescent moon redness against white skin.

Another night of sleepwalking and she clutches her cheeks with her hands, screaming wordlessly.

Her mother isn’t home to hear her, but then again, she never is.

 

-

 

On Tuesday, Laura is playing with Lydia’s stereo, going through her stacks of CDs. “Huh,” she says, holding one up. “I never would have thought you’d be a fan of Hole.”

Lydia shrugs. “They’re okay,” she mutters, sitting down on her bed. She’s never actually listened to that CD, to be honest. Shauna Rowan got her that CD for her birthday when they were twelve and went through a grunge phase but she never bothered to listen to it. So she just crosses her ankles and folds her hands in her lap. “Why are you here?” she tries again. She sounds timid, broken. She’s not used to feeling like this. She used to think she was strong. Now she’s not so sure. “Why are you doing this?”

Laura doesn’t look at her. “You know, my brother never saw the point of female musicians. I always thought that was a load of shit, personally. I mean, he was a big fan of Nirvana but let’s be real here, Hole was always so much better.” She frowns a little, worrying her lip between her teeth. She looks like she’s trying to distract herself from whatever’s on her mind. “They had better lyrics, and Kurt never tuned his fucking guitar.”

“Why are you here?” Lydia repeats and her lower lip trembles. Her voice cracks on the last syllable.

“Derek,” Laura says suddenly, as if remembering. “My brother’s name is Derek.”

“Why are you _here_?” Lydia screams and she grabs Laura by the shoulders and shakes her and Laura is taller and stronger probably but Lydia has the element of surprise on her side and she shakes Laura so hard that she shocks even herself. “Why are you doing this? Everyone is keeping secrets from me. My boyfriend hates me and my friends won’t talk to me and I keep blacking out and seeing things and I feel like you’re the only one with any fucking answers and all you’re doing is trying to talk about music I don’t even like and cars and I don’t know who the fuck you even _are_.”

Laura just gives her a pitying look. “I’m in your head, Lydia,” is all she says. She touches Lydia’s cheek again and brushes her hair away from her face. “My name is Laura Hale.”

And Lydia remembers the headlines: _Eight Killed in Hale Arson, Teens Survive, Uncle Hospitalized_ and the accompanying photographs of an angry looking young woman and her terrified little brother in the hospital and then six years later: _Hale Fire Survivor Murders Sister_ and how the entire school was abuzz with the news that Derek Hale had been arrested for murdering his sister, his older sister named _Laura_.

But no, Derek didn’t kill her – Lydia read that in the papers too, but it doesn’t change the fact that Laura Hale is still _dead_ and that she’s currently in her room, reading her books, going through her shit and talking to her like she’s still alive.

Lydia covers her face with her hands and collapses on her bed. She lets herself cry, loud, sloppy tears dripping down her face and her body shakes with sobs.

The bed shifts next to her and she feels thin arms around her and Laura is gently hushing her.

 

-

 

“I just wanted friends,” Lydia whispers later that night. It’s two in the morning. Her television is on, bathing the room in a soft blue glow. There’s some kind of courtroom drama on the screen that she’s not paying attention to. “That’s all I wanted. And now… Who’s going to be friends with the crazy girl who runs around naked in the woods and sees things and talks to dead people?”

She is under the covers and Laura is on top of them. Laura’s profile is sharp in the blue light and the darkness. Lydia is chewing on her nails until they’re ragged and most of the pale pink polish is flecked off. She plays with the edge of her duvet. “I just want to be normal. I can’t even have that.”

Laura turns her head so that she’s looking at Lydia. “I’m sorry, Lydia,” she says gently, and she looks it. “I can’t explain what’s happening. All I know is that it’s from the bite.”

Lydia feels her eyes well up but she’s too exhausted to cry and she’s done too much crying in the last few days that all of her tears are used up. “But they said I was better.” Her voice wavers and cracks. “They said I was okay.”

“I know.” Laura looks very small and young. “I’m so sorry, Lydia.”

“Stop apologizing,” Lydia snaps. She’s tired, she’s so, so tired. “Stop saying that you’re sorry. Stop talking and start _fixing_ this.”

For a long time, Laura doesn’t say anything. Then she flashes Lydia a smile. It’s an apologetic one. “I can’t,” she admits in a tiny voice. Her lower lip is trembling too. “I wish I could, Lydia. I really do.” Her smile turns watery. “You don’t deserve this. No one does.”

She is gone in the morning.

There’s an indentation on the pillow from where her head rested and a few dark hairs left behind.

The room smells like smoke and death and dirth again, and Lydia opens the window.

She has to let the smell out.

 

 

 

end _._


End file.
